


Genesis, Then Exodus

by sherlocksavedme



Category: Grey's, Grey's Anatomy, Owen Hunt - Fandom
Genre: Afghanistan, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Grey's Anatomy Fusion, Based on Grey's Anatomy, Civil War, Flashbacks, Headcanon, Inspired by Grey's Anatomy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Service, Service Dogs, Soldiers, Surgeons, Trauma, War, shonda rhimes - Freeform, shondaland - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-06-20 13:01:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15534789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlocksavedme/pseuds/sherlocksavedme
Summary: Owen Hunt has PTSD and a service dog to help manage his PTSD.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> im full of ptsd and love for owen hunt and im getting a service dog for my traumatized ass so! im disgusting please enjoy my completely self-indulgent work. also im the biggest owen hunt stan you'll ever meet. id eat a truck tire for that stupid man.

Owen felt tired. It was the same kind of tired he always felt. The kind of fatigue that reached deep into his bones, his soul, and sucked the life from his marrow. _Was that a Thoreau line?_ His head throbbed.

Owen held a sigh tight in his chest as he stared hard up at the bed above him. When his lungs felt like they were burning, his chest tight, he let it burst from him. His temples pounded with exhaustion. The watch on his left wrist glowed in the dark, reading 1:12 AM. He needed to make rounds on the woman in the ICU and the kid's case he was on. He wondered how they slept, one with a gaping hole in her side and the other with intracerebral hemorrhaging. He hoped better than he had.

He had forgotten long ago what a truly restful night was. Sleep was hard, if not impossible to come by nowadays. He was always plunged straight into a nightmare, tossing and turning and crying in his sleep for a half hour and waking up more exhausted and scared than when he fell asleep. He tried to keep himself awake most nights; the nightmares were too intense;mHe had left Afghanistan ten months ago, but every night, he felt like he was crouching under enemy fire again.

He grimaced, sat up, and rubbed his eyes. _1:14 AM,_ he read. Blurry images of his nightmares lingered behind his eyes. _Dan's eyes were bloodshot, his eyes rolled back halfway in his skull. Blood pooled around his head and stained the sand in a dark puddle._  Goosebumps pricked his arms. "Christ," he hissed.

 _Owen wiped sweat and tears from his face. Dan didn't look like the stoic soldier crushed under the exploded Humvee; his face was twisted in a permanent, scared expression._ He had to tell his mom happy birthday today! _Owen thought in futility._ _He didn't need to do a once-over on his closest comrade. He knew Dan's heart and brain activity had ceased long before he found him. Owen's mouth curled against a sob welling up in his throat._

Owen twitched and shook his head sharply. He realized his palms were sweating, and his pulse filled his head. He caught his mouth forming a string of words he suddenly couldn't recall. _Cool it, Hunt. You know where you are._ Dizziness and exhaustion clouded his senses. He dropped his head into his hands and let a sigh shudder from his chest.

The surgeon expected any moment to feel a wet nudge at his shin. A pitiful whimper formed in his throat. _Where is Genesis? Where is he?_

Feeling fed up with the disorienting, repetitive terror, Owen stood up briskly, cracked his knuckles, and flicked on the light before he could stop himself.

Adrenaline flooded his senses, but as recognized where he was, his heart fluttered and slowed. He memorized his surroundings, inspected each corner and window with a swift glance, and forced himself to breathe in slowly, in and out, like his therapist taught him to.  _Thank god I'm alone._ If any of his coworkers walked in on him having an episode, he may never recover from the shame.

The on-call room was never fancy or comfortable; it contained a bunkbed with a single sheet, a desk, a window (with curtains, thank god), and a cabinet full of steri-strips, bottles of water, butterfly needles, and granola bars tucked into the back. Sleeping here was better than sleeping alone.

Cries of desperation and agony filled his head once again, making him shut his eyes and sway on his feet. Memories began to drag him under, more intense this time. _Come on!_   _Focus!_

Despite himself, Owen staggered backwards as a ghost of a bullet whizzed past his ear. He sunk to his knees. Psychosomatic pain exploded in his right thigh, even though he was acutely aware the second bullet was removed from his leg on site, two years ago.

A dark-skinned, panicked woman came into view. Her uniform was tattered and bloody. A fresh bruise highlighted her left cheekbone. "Hunt!"Saaba screamed. "Hunt, get out of there! Four o'clock!"Owen knew he had patients to see. He knew he had to hold it together. He knew this wasn't real. But this was too much. Her voice sounded so real in his head. The cry he swallowed earlier burst from his chest in a strangled shout. He watched Saaba crumple as half a dozen bullets made their mark in her flesh.

"Saaba! Jesus Christ!" Owen sobbed, pounding his fist into the leg of the bed frame.

All nights were hard, but it was an exceptionally unbearable night without his PTSD service dog, Genesis.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello sorry this took two months im garbage but so is owen so it's fine. Also, I have a service dog in training! @service.dog.atlas on instagram!

CH 2

Owen served in the army in Afghanistan for four years in total, on two separate tours. His second tour came to a screeching halt when his entire platoon was murdered, and his sister went missing on a chopper that never touched down again. He had a psychotherapist and a team of doctors waiting for him at the base in Germany. Still, mid-twenties and more prideful than a hyena, he went along his days believing he didn't need them. The same week he came home, his symptoms mutated so rapidly he was diagnosed with complex post-traumatic stress disorder. Owen refused to hang onto this label. He came home in one piece, didn't he? He was fine.

The same month he officially arrived home from the military on honorable discharge, he plunged back into surgery. He couldn't let himself stay useless for too long. Idle hands created chronic scabs from nervous traumatized tics, after all. There were people --civilians-- that needed surgery. There were children that needed stitches and stressed grad students who needed ulcers treated. Sure, the high he got from the desert could never be replaced by the drone of the hospital routine. But still, it would be better than nothing.

Headstrong, hotheaded, and fresh off Afghan soil, Major Hunt wasn't exactly accepted by the existing hospital staff. Apparently, he worked too quickly, too haphazardly; the chief of surgery had commented more than once that he worked like he was still in the sand pit. Owen always swallowed down a grimace. He worked the way he knew best, and he was damn good at his job.

Trying to ease back into civilian life was hard enough. Soon after touching down in his Seattle home, the nightmares set in. Owen found himself constantly flinching when a door slammed, jumping when someone moved behind him, and whipping his head around when he heard a squirrel scuttling on the sidewalk behind him. Letting himself be ordered around by civilian surgeons didn't feel possible. His care team urged normalcy into his daily routine as much as possible, so he was kind of stuck between a rock and a hard place. This was his life, whether he liked it or not.

After months of nightmares and meltdowns locked in various corners of the hospital, invisible to everyone, his care team urged him to consider a service dog to help him with his PTSD and civilian rehabilitation.

Owen was not humored in the slightest.

"A dog," he echoed dryly . His cheeks began to burn. A _dog?_ His brain swarmed with excuses. "Why don't we switch up my medication? I haven't hit my limit on Abilify or Zoloft. Therapy is going fine." His psychiatrist held his gaze sympathetically, saying nothing. "You're being serious?" he implored when he didn't look away.

Dr. Resher raised his eyebrows.  "I'm being very serious, Owen. Service dogs have helped countless people with all kinds of disabilities, psychiatric or otherwise. PTSD service dogs aren't as strange or uncommon as you think."

Owen sat back, chewing his lip deeply, and felt surprised at the resentment burning in his belly. _I don't need a service dog,_ he thought bitterly. _I've come back in tact; all my limbs are here._

His doctor shifted and scratched his cheek. Owen opened his mouth, then furrowed his brow deeply. "What do you think about that?"

He resented the open-ended question they taught him in medical school. He knew he wasn't trying to sound condescending, but it still took a stab at Owen's pride. He swallowed and thought carefully about his response. "I think that's unnecessary, frankly. I mean, I'm a surgeon." He pressed his palms on his knees and frowned. "How could I possibly justify bringing a dog into the OR? What about a patient's comfort? How would they feel if their own doctor needed a dog to stay sane?" Not to mention all the complications bringing a dog into the OR would bring, and all the prying questions and undoubted teasing that could come from his colleagues. Doctors didn't have service dogs. Pain pulsed in his temples. Owen would be lying if he said he didn't feel offended by the very suggestion. Uneasiness made his fingers twitch. He cast his gaze toward the door.

He followed his psychiatrist's train of thought. He was aware of him shifting in his seat, undoubtedly sensing Owen's climbing frustration. "You've had dogs before, yes? After your dad passed?"

Owen braced himself for icicles to pierce his heart, but he only felt a dull throb in his chest. He sighed impatiently. "Ah, yeah. Mom got Peppermint to keep Meg and I company during the day." He smiled deftly as he thought of the pale gray pit mix, bounding after him and his sister in the yard. That dog could play fetch from sunrise to sunset. "She always liked Megan more than me, though." And there it was. A wave of pain spiderwebbed through his head. He winced. A familiar red haze began to creep into his vision. 

"Would you say Peppermint was comforting to have around? She wasn't bad company?"

_What? What did he...?_

Owen narrowed his eyes, giving way to the vision pulling into focus.

Megan's laugh became more distinct. "I'll be fine, Diamond. Take it easy." Dread crawled up his shoulders. She reached out and gripped his hand in a comforting squeeze. "This is what I'm trained for."

Owen scowled deeper. "No." He drew his hand away like he had just been burned. "Not for this. We leave that up to the CO."

She half grinned at him, puzzled. "But this is a DUSTWUN. All hands on deck, you know this." She shifted her stance to gain more solid footing. Her eyes narrowed. Owen said nothing, swallowing to keep his heart rate down. "A _DUSTWUN,_ Owen. This involves all of us."

"I get that, Megan.  Usually we all would go, but this is a unique case. I want us to stay put while he has his patrol out. You don't belong with them. You have to stay here."

" _Us,_ meaning you and I? That's it?"

Owen's face twitched in frustration. " _Us_ meaning you, Xave, and Rolland. Me and half of the platoon are going out."

The smile disintegrated from her face. Her eyebrows came together. _You look so much like Dad._

"I'm in pilot training. I don't operate like you do. You need our help! Besides, you can't just pull Xavier from work. He and I are supposed to go together! You're being serious?"

Owen crossed his arms and held his unwavering gaze. Hot fury clashed with icy refusal.

"Owen! You're being _serious?_ "

He unclenched his jaw. "I'm your Major and the DUSTWUN was a false signal.

 _"False?"_ she cried incredulously.

He drew in a breath to demand her to listen to him when her shape began to burn away as rapidly as it came.

_She went anyway._

"Dr. Hunt." The veteran blinked. He was cowering over in his chair, digging his fingers into his knees. _He just said something to you._ "W-what?" _You're losing it. Focus!_ He pried his eyes from the carpet between his feet.

"Owen." His doctor was eye-level with him, crouched in the same position he was. "Are you okay?"

He didn't want to look up at his doctor. Shame and exhaustion burned in his cheeks. He let out a huff of frustration. _I did it again, didn't I._

"You're here. You're in this office. You're safe."

He squeezed his eyes shut again and, to his surprise, felt tears dampen his eyelashes. He sat up and hastily wiped them away. _Was I crying, too?_ He wanted to hit something.

Dr. Resher sat up in his chair as well, a grim expression written on his face. "What did you see, Owen?"

Icy claws of fear gripped his heart, making him freeze. _No,_ he thought. _No. I won't tell you what happened or why. It's my fault and I'll take the collateral._ Owen bit the inside of his lip hard and glanced towards the door. He dug his nails into his knees, wishing his hands would stop shaking.

"Okay. I can see you're still a little worked up."

Owen would've scoffed if his throat wasn't constricted with terror. _A little?_ Sweat beaded under his shirt. _Megan is dead because of me. It's my fault my own sister is dead._ Owen stared at his hands. "Stop."

His doctor didn't relent. "This is debilitating. This is severely affecting your quality of life."

"I'm not _sick."_ Owen was surprised at the venom he heard in his voice.

Resher inhaled deeply. "You _are,_ doctor. And I, along with the rest of your VA team, believe a service dog is the best course of action."

He swallowed hard and allowed himself to think about it.

"Please, give it a try."

_Do I have anything else to lose at this point?_

So try he did. A try turned into two weeks of hectic, ecstatic dog fun, an additional month of smooth socialization, and eventually, real transition training. Genesis was a two-year-old Greater Swiss Mountain Dog trained through a local VA operation, and Owen couldn't believe he ever hesitated making this decision in the first place. Genesis truly gave him the freedom he hadn't experienced since before he left.

\---

Owen curled the nylon leash around his fist and exhaled slowly. Genesis cast him a glance. _Good focus,_ he thought absently.

The doctor chewed on his lip as he watched clusters of chattering people slink by, some quietly snickering, others chirping with excitement. The smell of popcorn was almost overwhelming. He just needed to find a break in the crowd of people and get to the ticket booth. Seeing so many people scuttling around in one place made him nauseous.

_I can do this. I can do this._

Owen got off work early that evening; a slow pit rarely means good things, but tonight, it truly meant most of Seattle was safe. He decided to do something he used to enjoy before he enlisted. He had to try and be normal for once. Do things normal people did. People liked seeing movies on a Friday night. However, crowds and loud commotion always made him on edge. He turned his gaze to the front of the building. The teenaged girl sitting behind the glass wall nodded along and paid ample attention to the group of people crowding around her work station. Eventually, they peeled off and headed inside. Owen swallowed hard.

_Just get to the ticket booth. Just walk up to that kid._

He took another deep breath in and looked down at Genesis, who was panting happily, tail swishing amiably. He glanced back up at his handler and swiveled his ears forward. Owen patted his thigh gently and Genesis swung into a tight heel. He trotted along eagerly, checking in with him every few moments.

As Owen approached the counter, the girl gave him a courteous smile. She looked to be mid- to late- teens, long silky brown hair held back from her face with a lavender bandana. Acne scattered across her cheeks. She had golden studs in her earlobes.

The door to his right slammed shut and a chorus of yelling boys hit his ears. Owen gasped and flinched away.

The girl didn't seem phased. "Hi, what will it be tonight?" Owen blinked. He had a movie in mind but it left him that moment.

"Uh-I, uh," he stuttered lamely. He could feel his heart race faster and faster. His hands began to sweat. He was frozen in place. _Don't just stand there, you idiot!_ Automatically, his hands balled into fists. In the distance behind him, a Humvee explosion shattered the momentary desert calm. Owen's heart exploded in terror. _Go, go, go!_ _Get out of here! You have to leave now!_ Owen could barely draw in a steady breath. Sweat and chills broke out across his whole body. There would be only moments before enemy fire rained upon them and Jax would let out a painful screech.

Something hard shoved the back of his knee again and again. He jumped, startled at first, then felt a deluge of licks against the backs of his hands. _Oh._ He relaxed his hands and ran them through Genesis' fur, relishing his stocky warmth. _Thank you._ He glanced down at his dog and sighed. The vision was beginning to clear like smoke from his mind's eye. Genesis squeezed his way between Owen's legs and stared up at him, tongue hanging out languidly. The pressure against his legs helped his adrenaline kick back a notch or two. Owen rubbed his ears hard and Genesis wiggled happily. He felt his tail beat against the back of his pant leg. _Thank you._

Owen looked back up at the girl behind the glass and steeled himself for her remarks. To his despair, her green eyes were wide orbs, peering down over the counter at Gen. She didn't seem to notice his momentary terror, thankfully.

"Oh, that dog is so cute! How old is she?"

He forced himself not to grimace. _You knew this would happen._ "He's two years."

"Oh, oh, he. He, sorry. What's his name?" Her voiced trilled. "Oh, hi doggie! You're so beautiful!" Genesis glanced over at the girl as she cooed, but after a quick tap on his leash, he kept his focus on Owen.

 _Can you not read?_ he thought bitterly. He stared imploringly at the big, bright patch on the center of his vest that said PTSD SERVICE DOG DO NOT INTERACT. "I'm sorry, he's a service dog. He's working right now. May I get my ticket for Baby Driver now?"

Something in her face switched. Clearly, the gears clicked in her brain. Her face flushed as she looked back at Owen. "Right, I'm so sorry sir. I apologize." Owen raised his eyebrows deftly, more for himself than for her to read his expression. _Good grief._

She began to print his ticket and he handed over his card. "Sorry, I know better," she muttered.

_I'm sure._

The girl continued to ramble, making flickering eye contact. "I used to know this teacher in high school that had a service dog. I know they have a job to do. I'm sorry. They're supposed to focus so they don't get their owners hurt."

Owen held in an exasperated sigh.

"I think she had a service dog because she couldn't handle crowds well. I think she had a chronic illness, too. I didn't have her for any of my classes, but I saw her around."

 _HIPAA, for God's sake!_ Owen rubbed Genesis hard again, trying to keep his blood pressure low. It was easy to have a full blown meltdown after an initial flashback.

"Look, a dog!" A squeal came from behind him. It sounded like a child, maybe nine or ten years old. Owen flinched again. _Oh my fucking God._ "Watch my six," he murmured to Genesis. Gen obediently wiggled out from between his legs and swung his body parallel behind him, ears perked.

 _If this keeps up I don't know if I'll even make it in the theater!_ "Sorry again, sir." The girl slid him his ticket and his card back.

Owen nodded tersely. "Sure, I get it. Just don't do it to another handler, okay?"

The girl shook her head. "I won't. I understand."

A soft nudge hit the back of his leg. Someone was coming up close behind him. Owen gripped his leash tighter and begged for his lucid mind to stay. _Don't freak out. Don't freak out._

"Cute dog."

Owen patted his thigh for his heel command, and Genesis complied, ignoring the person who had come up behind him. "Thanks," he replied, not looking up. "Let's go buddy." Genesis trotted along his side, slipping in through the doors calmly.

When they entered the building, he let out a heavy sigh. "Christ." He ran his hand down Genesis' head and proceeded through the crowd. He ignored every other remark, question, and exclamation made to him or about his dog. He just needed to get to the theater and relax.

Just as he approached the man standing at the booth and handed him his ticket. Thankfully, he only glanced at Genesis and nodded. "It's gonna be in eight, all the way down to the left."

"Thanks."

Just as they brushed past the man, the door to the bathroom creaked open and swung wide. To his utter surprise, a rough collie in a mobility harness trotted out with a girl at its side.

Genesis' ears swiveled forward, clearly as caught off guard as he was.

"Oh!" the girl laughed. She stopped in her tracks and grinned. "I wasn't expecting to see another service dog here!"

Owen smiled back, feeling relief rush down his spine. "Yeah, me neither." He scanned the dog. Attached to the harness was a bright cape that had at least half a dozen flashy patches on it, including one that said "Talk to the booty 'cus I'm on duty!" The girl looked to be college aged, maybe close to finishing up her four-year. She was gripping the handle and bracing. _Counterbalance?_ The collie showed no interest in Genesis, who Owen was still struggling to get to focus on him again. The collie looked up at it's handler for further direction.

"What movie are you seeing?"

"Excuse me?" Wouldn't they have some small talk about their dogs? This was kind of cool!

She gestured to the ticket clutched in his hand. "It'd be funny if we ended up in the same theater."

He cleared his throat. _Snap out of it!_ "Baby Driver," he mumbled, preoccupied with reading the other witty patches on its vest.

The girl let out a snort of laughter. Owen suppressed a nervous smile. "So am I."


	3. Chapter 3

CH 3

Owen considered turning around and leaving right then and there. He nearly had to turn around before he even got in the door, and now another handler will be in the same theater with him? What could possibly go wrong?

Owen wrapped his leash around his fist once more and tapped Genesis gently on the head. "Focus." He shook himself briefly and drew his attention away from the other dog. _Thank you._ Owen felt awkward, not sure who should begin walking first. The girl obliged after a moment of polite gesturing.

"This is Anubis. He's my mobility and medical alert dog. My name's Jessie." Owen was grateful that each handler separated the dogs. He was sure Genesis would be fine, but he didn't want to take any chances. Anubis trodded along in a loose heel, swinging his head up every moment or so to check in on his handler.

Just as he was praying he wouldn't have to make small talk, she said, "He looks kinda young. How old is he?"

"Uh, he's just over two." He gave a polite smile and tried to will away the tightness in his chest. He listened to Genesis panting happily.

They both ignored the several gasps and murmurs that swam past them as people gawked at the two dogs.

"Yeah, it's like this wherever we go," she remarked, smiling in amusement.

"Unfortunately," Owen murmured.

They reached the theater and he held the door open for Jessie and Anubis. "It was nice meeting you."

"You too." She gave him another nod and he watched the pair melt into the darkness. He followed after them. Owen picked a seat at the very back. He couldn't handle people sitting behind him; freaked him out too much. Thankfully, Anubis and Jessie sat towards the middle. If she offered to sit with them he would've felt so awkward he wouldn't have known what to say.

Thankfully, just as he expected him to, Genesis curled up under his feet and dozed off in a matter of minutes. As the movie began people piled in, and only a few squeals from a group of teenagers bothered him.

Throughout the course of the movie, he toyed with his phone, sneakily checking to see if he got a page from the hospital. It felt so weird to not be at work. However, he cherished moments he could be a normal citizen with his service dog, and not that doctor who walked around with his dog all the time. Genesis was impeccable at work with him, but during other outings he wasn't always on his A-game. It irritated Owen just a bit, but as long as he had him working well at the hospital, he was satisfied.

The movie was okay; it wasn't so full of destruction and loud bangs that sent him into a meltdown, but it did put him on edge.

The main antagonist was taken out head on by a speeding car, and the impact made him jump. On cue, Genesis lifted his head and poked his nose through Owen's knees to look at him. Owen stroked his ear once. Despite his controlled breathing that he'd committed to muscle memory, he couldn't bring his heart rate down. His dog slithered out from underneath him and nudged him hard with his nose. _I know, I know,_ he thought. As his knee began to bounce, Genesis obediently hefted his paws up across his lap and leaned in deep. Deep pressure therapy was a task that was invaluable to the veteran. Feeling something solid and real that he could focus on helped him stay grounded faster than any self-destructive habit he had picked up before Genesis.

Owen sighed heavily and put his forehead into his fur, digging his fingers under his collar. The textured stitching on his collar felt soothing against his sweating, shaking hands. Genesis nosed his handler's face once or twice, giving it a quick lick now and again. He stayed like that, tasking for Owen, until he could smell on his breath that his cortisol levels were slowly declining. Satisfied with his job, Genesis hopped down and stared up expectantly at him. _Fine,_ he smiled. Owen reached deep into his pocket and pulled out a tiny cube of cheese and handed it to his dog. Genesis lapped it up happily.

Owen looked around and could see in the dim light that no one had noticed he or his dog. He let out an anxious breath.

The rest of the movie went fine. He enjoyed it, especially the bits with the sign language. He thought that was really interesting. Ansel Elgort always put on a good show.

It unexpectedly made him think about his years being a young twenty-something, impulsive and angry and driven. His sister was constantly at his heels. He wished he didn't resent her as much as he did then.

There's infinite wishing he could do, but none of that would bring her back.

Properly disoriented by his spinning thoughts, Owen stood up when the house lights came on and tried to scurry on out. Genesis stood up and stretched languidly, shaking himself. "Come on, Gen," he urged. "Forward." He gripped the camo paracord pull strap tight. After a moment of getting his bearings, Genesis began to gently pull ahead of his handler in what could look like a sloppy heel. He followed Genesis closely, vaguely admiring how well he slipped through people and handled crowds.

Just as he was pulled through the door and away from most of the crowd, he felt a heavy presence press into his side. Owen whipped his head around and spotted none other than the soft face of Jessie. He swallowed down a grimace. _Please let me get out of here before something bad happens,_ he begged. His stomach was always hollow with worry.

"Hey, how'd you like the movie?" Jessie inquired.

"It was fine, good, yeah," he sighed, trying not to sound too worn out. Truly, he was wishing to get a few hours of sleep until he was inevitably called in to work.

"I thought it was good, too! Anubis held a great downstay and didn't get up when people dropped popcorn all around him."

"Mm." Owen nodded encouragingly.

"Did Genesis have to task for you at all?"

Ice chilled his veins. _Excuse me?_ "That's kind of an intrusive question," he intoned, frowning.

"Oh." Clearly, Jessie was taken aback by his bluntness. "I was just wondering."

He didn't feel like he had the energy to soothe a broken spirit. He wasn't going to cross her path again anytime soon, anyway. "Yeah, well, what my service dog does for me is pretty much my business, so."

"Sorry." Jessie twisted her mouth into a guilty grimace. Before she could say anything more, Owen gave her a swift nod and tapped his pull strap once more, sending Genesis off quicker. "Have a good night."

As they pulled ahead of her and Anubis, he let out a sigh that was held tight in his chest. "Let's go home, Genesis." He felt the solid sway of his dog's gait in his palm. It comforted him and soothed his racing heart.

 _Bzz, bzz._ His back pocket vibrated. Owen jumped, slightly startled, and slid his phone from his pocket. _Multiple MVC pileup. Need you ASAP. Got no interns on-call. -April_

The veteran clenched his fist around his phone and shoved it back into his pocket. _Damnit._ He signaled Genesis back into a heel and sped through the door to his truck. Genesis obediently sat outside the car door, waiting for his release cue. His slid off his hands-free leash from around his shoulder, slung it into the backseat, and said "Free." His dog leaped and sat on top of his leash.

Owen hurried to the front seat and cranked the engine, backing out quickly and heading south towards the hospital. He gave a huge yawn. _Guess there's no sleep for me tonight. That's what I get for trying to get some free time on a night I should've known better._

Genesis scooted forward and placed his chin on the middle console. "Buddy, you know better," he said softly. He smiled to himself and rubbed his soft head.

Owen pulled himself together as he reached the hospital parking lot. He reached behind the passenger seat and grabbed his hospital coat, threw it on, and hopped out of the car.

Genesis waited expectantly for his release cue, and when given, sat in a heel at Owen's knee. He adjusted his leash so it wrapped around his waist and set off, feeling his face set into serious mode. It was time to get focused. "Let's go to work, Genesis."


End file.
